Mince Pies
by BecauseI'mageek
Summary: An eight year old Sam Winchester tries (very hard) to bake mince pies for his brother Dean, but it doesn't go quite as he planned. Christmas Oneshot.


Mince Pies

A/N Merry Christmas everyone! Just a little one shot I hope you enjoy it! Sam is about 7 or 8 in this, and Dean 12.

I press my face against the glass as I watch the car drive away. Dean waves at me through the back window, and I wave back, and then the car turns the corner. I run into the kitchen, knowing I only have two hours before they get back.

I reach up on my tiptoes to get the cookbook. I'm getting taller now, so I'm sure I can reach the books without a chair; chairs are for kids.

Ouch. I wince as a large book falls on my head. Maybe a chair wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

I pull the nearest chair across the kitchen, and stand on it, placing the book that fell back on the shelf, and taking down the one I need.

I sit down on the chair and flick through to the page with the recipe for mince pies on it. I know the page number off by heart, as I've been planning this for Dean for ages, as he always seems to be kind of upset at the moment.

Okay, what do I need? I scan down the list, and happily see that I know where all these things are kept. Even the brandy, although I'll need a chair to reach into Dad's cabinet. I only need a little bit, he won't notice.

First things first, flour!

I walk to the cupboard and pull out the bag, dropping it on the floor. Yikes. That's going to take ages to clear up. Once the small cloud has settled, I pick up the bag again, and take it over to the table.

Oh, I need to preheat the oven, don't I?

I look in the book for the temperature, then turn the dial on the oven. There we go.

250 g of flour, should be simple enough to weigh out. I tip some in, and realise I've gone way over. I get a spoon and put some back into the bag, accidentally spilling most of it on my feet. I think I'll just clear everything up at the end.

Ten minutes later, I roll out the pastry. The book tells me it needs to be around 2-3 cm thick, so I run up to my room to get my ruler. Hmm, measuring pastry is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I tilt my head on one side and lean it on the table, still holding my ruler up against the pastry. Nope, it's still too thick.

I roll it out a bit more, and remember something Mrs Moss said at school about being careful so that it doesn't go too thin, because otherwise I'll burn it. I measure it again. 1.5 cm. That'll be fine.

I rummage through the drawer of cookie cutters. Apparently I need two sizes, one of the main part and one for the lid. Make sense I suppose.

I pull out reasonably sized ones, then compare them to the tray I'll bake them in. Oh, good, they fit.

I cut out 9 bases and 9 lids, and start laying the bases in the holes in the tray.

I hit my forehead. Sam, you've forgotten to make the filling!

I jump off of my stool and run to the cupboard to find raisins. The list also says glacé cherries and sugar... Ah, there! Above the cans of soup!

I fetch my stool from the kitchen, and reach up to get the small tub of glacé cherries. I pull a face. Urgh, I think they've been there for a while. They're all mushy and sticky.

I don't know what to do with them, so I just put them back, and pretend I never saw them. You can make mince pies without them, can't you? Of course you can.

I pick up the bag of sugar, which seems to be in good condition, and run back into the kitchen to put it all in the bowl. I'm running out of time, considering I need to bake them and tidy up the massive mess I've made before Dad and Dean get home from their 'special training'.

I use the wooden spoon I found in a dusty drawer to put the filling into the mince pies as evenly as I can. They're a little over flowing, but I'm sure once I've put the lid on and everything, they'll be fine. They'll probably shrink once baked anyway.

I open the oven door to slide in the tray, and then shut the door, as Mrs Moss said that the heat could escape quickly.

The book says to bake them for half an hour, so what about checking after fifteen minutes and then seeing how they look? Good plan, Sam, good plan. You got this.

I sweep up the flour on the floor, and the raisins, and the sugar and the bit of butter I dropped. Good thing I built in all this extra time for clearing up. Imagine how annoyed Dad would've been if he'd come home and I hadn't cleared up! I shudder.

Right, it's been thirteen minutes, I'll have a look.

I open the oven door, wearing oven gloves like Mrs Moss said we always had to. How did you tell if it's done? I poke one of the mince pies, then frown. It's stone cold. I poke the rest. They all are?

I see the light on in the grill above the oven.

Oh, I preheated the _grill_. Brilliant. Well, they'll just have to go in there instead. And I'd better turn it up a bit, so that they'll be cooked before Dean gets home, so I can surprise him with them when he comes in, after Dad has gone to clean his guns like he does every Tuesday evening when they get back after training.

I read my book until the timer beeps. It's really good book, about a boy called Harry. Dean recommended it to me, and I'm glad he did. Dean has always kept me reading, and he says it's important.

I run down the stairs two at a time,but stop suddenly when I get into the kitchen.

A large amount of grey smoke is rising from the grill, and it smells an awful lot like burning pastry.

I stamp my foot, and feel like crying in anger. This was suppose to be special, for Dean! Then I messed it up, just like I do everything.

Dean's voice speaks up in my head.

 _Hey Sammy. Look, just check on the pies. They might be alright._

Okay, Dean. I'll do that.

I open the grill, and cough, waving away the smoke with my spare hand. When most of the smoke clears, I can see the pies. Well. They're not _that_ burnt. I think they're still edible.

They're definitely baked, that I can be sure of.

I pull out the tray, and place it on top to cool. I check the clock; Dean should be home any minute now. I pick up a spoon from the side, and scoop the pies into the Tupperware pot I got out the cupboard.

I turn off the grill, then quickly wash and dry the tray.

My head shoots up. Was that the car on the drive?

I run into the bathroom and look out of the window.

Quick, Sam, you left the pies in the kitchen!

I sprint upstairs carrying the tub, putting it carefully under my bed. Then I pick up my book and try to sound as surprised as I can when I reply to Dean's shout.

"Sam? We're back!" Dean calls, and I run downstairs again to greet him. I hug him, and he picks me up and puts me on his shoulders. I laugh, and a large smile spreads across his face.

Dad picks me up off Dean's shoulders and sets my feet on the ground.

"What did you get up to, Sam?" Dean asks.

I shrug.

"I was reading my book. It's really good!" I tell him, and he grins again, then ruffles my hair.

Dad laughs.

"You'll be able to come soon, my boy."

Dean's smile freezes, and he looks distressed by this. I frown. Dean shouldn't be sad.

I tug on his arm.

"Come on, I want to show you something."

He nods, trying to hide whatever made him upset by smiling. But I always know. I'm his brother.

I run up the stairs, Dean only centimetres behind him. I dive under my bed, but before I bring out the tub, I get Dean to sit down, and put his hands over his eyes.

I open the tub, and he frowns.

"Can I open my eyes yet?" He asks, and I laugh.

"Not yet!"

I pick out a mince pie, and put it in my hand. "Ta-dah!" I say proudly, and he opens his eyes.

He grins.

"Awh, Sammy, you made me pie!"

I beam at him. He takes it from me, and looks up at me.

"Can I eat it?" He asks. I nod happily, and he takes a bite.

His face blanches slightly, but he recovers almost immediately, swallows then raises a hand for me to high five him. I do so, maybe a bit over enthusiastically.

"That's perfect pie." He tells me. "Still warm and everything."

I hug him, and he hugs me back tightly.

"Merry Christmas Dean."

"Merry Christmas Sam."


End file.
